200 Phenomena
by Vatican City
Summary: 200 drabbles based on the short stories that make up the Phenomena of Calgary and creepypasta dot net. Pairings and rating will vary, as may historical accuracy. Warning: gratituous violence, and repetitive character death. Twenty: The Clinic
1. The Cyber Cafe

**Title: **The Cyber Café

**Summary: **An inquisitive young game programmer by the name of Alfred F. Jones walks into an old cybercafé for entertainment and finds an interesting game.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_In China Town there's this cybercafé in the same building as The Kingfisher. It's small and cheap and old. The walls are still decorated with Diablo 2 and Quake boxes. The computers are a bit behind too, but that's not really what the patrons go there for. Go in, buy some time, and load up Heart of Wit. It's an Asian MMO, the kind with graphics that look like Gaia online. Make a free account and wander into the City of Wit. _

_The City of Wit will be inhabited by a half dozen players. All of whom will be talking in what looks like Asian script of some kind but is actually hyper stylized English. _

_After your eyes adjust, you'll realize that the player character names are the names of people you know in your everyday life. Most will ignore you, but occasionally they'll give you quests or challenge you to a duel. The quests are simple. Kill five dragon hatchlings and we'll give you a gold ingot. That kind of thing. _

_Whatever you do, never accept a challenge to duel and always do the quests. Names aren't the only thing that crosses over between the game and reality. _

* * *

Alfred ducked into a small, dingy shop.

Well, at least he did it an unnecessary justice by calling it a shop - it was one of those old cybercafés, obsolete and yet somehow managing to survive with the ultra-modern times. Still, Alfred liked old shops like these. They had interesting old games and were cheap to boot.

He handed a passing man he hoped was the owner a wad of bills and sat down at an old computer. The dirty old mouse moved deftly over the mouse pad as he checked the games and saw only one game, one he had never heard of before.

_Heart of Wit. Snappy title, hey,_ Alfred chuckled to himself and loaded it up. The graphics reminded him of Gaia Online, but so far so good. He made a free account and meandered around for a while before finding a place called the City of Wit. Walking through the streets, he saw a couple of characters talking in a strange writing that seemed Asian and yet looked familiar.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Nope. They were speaking in hyper-stylized English. Alfred grinned, impressed. He would have to search around for that font. It was exotic and would draw people in. Not to mention it was awesome and heroic.

Once his eyes adjusted, he began to recognize the names. _Matthew…Francis…Arthur, Ludwig…whoa, there's even an Antonio! What coincidence! _Alfred read what they said, but it was of little interest to him. Occasionally someone would give him a simple quest, and offered him a reward if he finished it.

After a while, Alfred was practically yawning in boredom. The graphics and font were cool, but the storyline was way too simple.

Then, the blond character who looked suspiciously like Arthur (and had his name) challenged him to a duel.

_Finally! _It was time to see how the battle was structured.

Alfred accepted.


	2. Closing Mirrors

**Title: **Closing Mirrors

**Summary: **Denmark is writing a letter to Finland and wants help. Norway will not give it.

**Pairings: **None intended; however, Denmark/Norway and Sweden/Finland if it pleases one to think so.

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Hey Sandy,_

_We miss you down at the coven. Matt said you wanted me to write up the mirror thing. _

_Ingredients: _

_1/2 Cup Flour_

_About an ounce of milkweed_

_The wings of a monarch butterfly_

_Grind the ingredients together in a stone bowl until they form a fine powder. Pour the powder on the mirror you want to close and light it with a wooden match. The mixture closes about half a square foot of mirror. You'll have to use more for larger surfaces. _

_Matt said you wanted to know if it only works in Calgary. I don't know if it's the city itself, or just the elevation. Sorry. _

_- Jess P._

* * *

Denmark paused and consulted a leather-bound tome lying on the table. "What did Finland want to know again?" he asked Norway, who was standing behind him.

"If it only works in Calgary," Norway informed him, staring at the letter Denmark was writing with polite disinterest.

Denmark frowned. "I don't know," he complained before messing up his already messy hair in exasperation. "Can't you write it, Norge?"

"Do not 'Norge' me," Norway deadpanned. "You are writing this letter because you need to have better relations with Berwald and Tino."

Denmark groaned and promptly smashed his head into the hardwood desk.

Taking advantage of Denmark's temporary distraction by self-mutilation, Norway snuck a glance at the large mirror set in the darkest corner of their small room. A small frown crossed the normally expressionless face, and shadows flitted through dull navy eyes.

They had not closed their mirror either.


	3. The Club House

**Title: **The Club House

**Summary: **Ivan Braginsky seeks to find a reprieve from the cold, and succeeds - but not without taking many pains.

**Pairings: **Ivan/Unknown, most likely some generic pairing

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_During the winter months, the river grows shallower in places. Between this and the ice, in the dead of winter, it's possible to walk across it in places where the ice is particularly thick. During these months, when the weather is thirty below or colder, walk to the very end of The Street, to the cul-de-sac. Between a large, ill kept lot and a house from the early eighties you will find an ill-kept bike path. Though it was once paved, the roots of the trees that line it have rendered the pavement bumpy and impassable for cyclists. _

_Walk to the end of the path and climb down the rain-water outflow at the bottom, then cross the ice to one of the island-like patches of scrub and small rock. Look for a damaged, dingy little shack made from water damaged wood and corrugated tin. If you fail to find it, move on to the next pile of rocks, and then the next, until eventually you find the small structure. When you do, hold your hand up to the door. It will either be very cold or very hot to the touch. Neither is truly fortuitous, but you'll be dressed for the cold and so it will be easier to weather. _

_When you step inside the shack, you will find that it is empty other than a small boy who hanged from the roof by a hastily tied noose. His clothing will not be contemporary, rather it will be aged and ragged to the point of anonymity, unlike the boy's perfectly preserved body. After a time, his eyes will open, and the rotted out sockets will stare into your eyes. Do not blink, do not look away, do not even move. The room's temperature will grow more extreme during the hours-long moment you spend looking into those holes. _

_And then they will close. _

_From that moment on, you will not feel the temperature anymore. Any temperature at all. Nor will you get burns, frostbite, heat stroke or hypothermia. _

* * *

Ivan whistled to himself as he strolled down the depilated lot at an excessively leisurely pace. His eyes flickered around as he took in his surroundings.

He smiled as he found the path he had been told to follow. The path was ill-kept, overgrown with roots. Once it might have been a well-paved bicycle path, but nature had claimed it back over time. The process was slow, but Ivan respected the great force it would take to bend and break concrete and force tender shoots through such brittle, nutrition less soil, creating the path he was now stumbling through with such imprudence as to not bring a pair of thicker, warmer socks. Fleetingly, he thought of home and, how he could make it back if he just left now.

Still, he persisted, and was rewarded for his efforts. Eventually, the path opened into a steep overhang he climbed down, careful not to slip on the ice, and planted his feet on the riverbank, scanning the frozen waters. Several minutes passed and Ivan's nose turned red from the frost, but he stayed his ground, searching for it.

Then his eyes touched on a particularly far-lying island of rock and scrub and he grinned. There it was - an abandoned old shack made of scourged pieces of tin and rotten wood.

Stepping carefully onto the ice, he slid to his destination with surprising ease, although his toes were numb from the cold. He placed his hand on the door, about to open it, but drew back in an instant with a small widening of his eyes.

The door was cold, colder than the Arctic winds. He had been warned of it, but the utter chill of the door was an unpleasant surprise. Still, Ivan steeled himself and pushed open the door. It took great effort to him to move it, flimsily constructed as it was, and made a heavy wooden sound as it collided with the opposite wall.

Ivan, however, did not notice this. All he could do was stare at the boy in ragged clothes hanging from the rafters by a common, thick rope.

Strangely enough, the boy's skin was perfectly smooth and white and looked almost silky, like a certain other person's. Ivan was tempted to touch it and see, despite it not being the purpose of his visit. He took a step forward, hand outstretched, but at the exact moment, the boy's empty eye sockets opened and stared into his own. Rendered a motionless statue by fear and some other unknown, compelling emotion, Ivan could not look away, could not move, could not blink.

Before, when he had been warned not to blink, Ivan had thought it would be hard; to him, blinking was an instinct and a necessity, to keep the moisture in his eyes from drying out because of the cold Arctic winds. In fact, he had come here for that very reason.

Now, time seemed to slow down, and he struggled to take breaths. The air in the shack seemed to have turned viscous, both burning and freezing his lungs as he stared, one arm outstretched, mouth slightly open, into the corpse boy's empty eye sockets.

Then, the perfectly preserved eyelids closed over the dark voids and the temperature returned to normal. Ivan felt a tinge of relief and, strangely, regret, but shrugged it off and stepped outside. He pulled off one of his gloves and frowned. Something was very wrong.

Cautiously, he pulled off his shoe and sock and dipped his bare foot into a part of the river that had not frozen completely. He waited for the burning sensation of his nerves registering the cold slush.

It never came.

He smiled broadly and put the shoe and sock on again. It had worked, to his faint elation and, oddly, regret. He dismissed the feeling. The atmosphere of the shack was probably getting to him. Now heedless of the chill, Ivan began his trek back to his place of residence.


	4. The Funeral Parlour

**Title: **The Funeral Parlour

**Summary:** Gupta Muhammad does not understand what is so strange about this particular funeral, but he soon learns.

**Pairings:** None

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Most of the city's funeral parlours belong to one company, but a handful of allegedly independent firms survive. In reality, all of the city's funeral parlours are owned by big business in some way or other, including a small, somber brick building in the deep southeast. This particular funeral parlour has allegedly been closed for years, but lights can be seen in the windows at night, giving credence to the story that it's haunted. It isn't. What's going on inside is far stranger._

_In order to gain admittance, you will have to wear traditional funeral attire: black and subdued rather than anything flashy or informal. Bringing flowers is said to help. When you're admitted, whatever you do, do not sign the book or you will find that the exit is barred for you. Instead, offer your condolences to the mourners, who seem to be a collection of people of all ages and races, most of whom are wearing old, worn suits or patched dresses. _

_The funeral repeats itself every night at eight. If you come at any other time, you will be required to wait in the main hall while the staff prepare. During the ceremony itself, never volunteer to speak and never view the body. Both would draw too much of the deceased's attention. Instead listen with rapt attention to the eulogy, as it is a valued component of the secret history. Leave before the funeral is done, and just like in those old Greek stories: never eat anything anyone offers you. _

* * *

Gupta kept his eyes fixed on the man giving the eulogy, but he was only half listening. It felt so _wrong_ - and not because he was intruding in on a funeral of someone he did not know with a bouquet of amaranths. The entire event evoked an eerie feeling.

Mentally, he recounted what he found strange as the speaker droned on.

The man that had greeted him was strange - his skin was unnaturally dark, as though carpeted by thick layers of dust, and his eyes had a strange mechanical gleam. The mourners, too, were dust-covered, and, despite the great diversity of age and race, had the same inhuman look.

No one signed the book upon entry, for some reason, so Gupta did not either. No one took the flowers, either. A sudden jolt coursed through his body as he realized he was the only one to enter the building by the front entrance, and there was no one in the waiting room.

Suddenly drawn from his reverie by a familiar-sounding word, Gupta frowned and listened more intently. What he heard made him gasp. The entire crowd turned to him in perfect unison, the strange look in their eyes more visible than ever. At this, Gupta turned and ran for his life.

He never returned home.


	5. The Murderer

**Title:** The Murderer

**Summary:** When he sees a murderer, Peter Kirkland calls the police like a good little boy. Unfortunately, he is looking out a glass door.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_You are home alone, and you hear on the news about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose. You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you._

_You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now._

_You then drop the phone in shock. There are no footprints in the snow._

_It's his reflection._

* * *

Peter Kirkland was perfectly happy to be at home alone watching Doctor Who and eating cheese puffs. After all, his jerk of a cousin and guardian Arthur did not let him watch television as much as he would have liked and _certainly _did not let him eat food other then the Scones of Doom™. It was good to be home alone.

However, just as a cheese puff was about to meet its doom between the almighty jaws of Peter Kirkland, the show switched to news. Peter huffed in annoyance until the profile of the murderer came up. He had just seen someone who matched the profile perfectly out in the garden. Could it be…?

He snuck a look. The strange man was still there, behind the sliding glass doors separating the garden from the living room, and he was smiling. At Peter.

Peter's heart rate picked up and he began hyperventilating. With trembling hands, he picked up the phone and dialed the police. It was going to be all right, the police would come and take the murderer away, and he would be…

He looked out the window as he waited for the operator to pick up.

The phone dropped from numb hands as Peter realized there were no footprints in the snow. The murderer he was seeing was a reflection.

Mercifully, he blacked out.


	6. The Other Side

**Title:** The Other Side

**Summary:** Temptation is hard to resist, but temptation from oneself is the hardest. Desperate measures must be taken.

**Pairings:** None intended; however, it may be interpreted as one-sided Black!Kiku/Kiku

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints. Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass? _

* * *

Kiku had always prided himself on his meticulous cleanliness, so when he saw fingerprints on the mirror in his bathroom one morning as he brushed his teeth, he was understandably irritated.

Attempting to clean his mirror, he grabbed the towel slung around his neck and rubbed at the glass surface. However, even after he had splashed it with soap, the fingerprints remained.

Kiku looked more closely, inspecting the fingerprints in hopes of finding some way to eradicate the blemishes on his mirror, and made a strange discovery. The fingerprints seemed to be on the other side of the glass.

Astonished by this, Kiku looked up at the rest of the mirror and came face to face with _him_.

His gaze was still as black and compassionless as they had been years ago, mocking the pure white military uniform he was wearing. His hands were pressed against the mirror in a beckoning position. He looked almost hospitable, but Kiku knew the truth.

That night, Kiku disposed of every mirror in his household.


	7. The Beach

**Title: **The Beach

**Summary: **Cuba does not know the rules, but he knows how to read the signs. He was lucky he read them right.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_There is a beach within the city. To find it, step into any elevator and go to the top floor. Press every button in ascending order, including the close and open door buttons. _

_Instead of opening onto the next highest floor, the elevator will open into a small cottage. The door of the vacant cottage will open onto the beach. The beach is warm and apparently temperate, shockingly beautiful at every hour, but blood and some sticky black substance will colour the white sand in long streaks. _

_The beach is bordered on one side by an impossibly thick forest. Entering this will make your life forfeit. At sunset and sunrise, a group of men dressed in the traditional clothing of different religions (most prominently Ashkenazi Rabbis and Protestant Ministers) will emerge from this forest and search the beach in silence, sifting through the sand as penance for their lives of deception. These figures will be so taken with their work that they will refuse to talk to you, only muttering "searching... searching... must keep searching..." in their native tongue. Total darkness and proper sunlight burn these poor souls, so they must return to the forest. _

_Otherwise, you will be alone on the beach. The water stretches impossibly far, as far as the eye can see and further still. Wider and higher than the ocean, and far stiller, this water will soothe you as you gaze upon it. But never let it lull you to sleep outside of the cottage. The men in the forest may find what they're searching for within you. _

* * *

At first, Cuba found nothing strange about the beach he had discovered. Yes, the sand was colored oddly in stripes with some sticky dark fluid and yes, the location of the beach was illogical, but Cuba had seen far stranger things in his time and chose not to think of it; it was his haven, a beautiful, quiet place he could escape to and relax.

The first few days, nothing of note happened. Cuba just lounged there, lying in the warm sand and smoking a cigar. However, one day, when he stayed past his usual time and was admiring the spectacular sunset, there were other visitors to the beach.

They were all male, and seemed to be religious, since they were dressed in the traditional clothes of many different religions. Cuba watched them as they dug into the sand, curious, until the sun had set completely and night descended. At this point, the group retreated to the extremely dense forest bordering the beach.

At this point, Cuba left.

Something felt wrong about this beach. Very wrong. He resolved not to return.


	8. The Antique Shop

**Title:** The Antique Shop

**Summary:** Taiwan's enjoyment of shopping may be her undoing, especially when she goes with a companion she does not know.

**Pairings:** Implied Austria/Hungary

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Somewhere in the Northeast, although there are conflicting reports of its location, there is a small antique shop called Edson's Antiques and Importing. By the look of it, the store's been closed for decades, and for good reasons. Not the least of which is that it opens onto an alley instead of onto the street. The merchandise inside can't be seen through the murky glass, but you can usually make out the window display. _

_The display, despite the fact that no one really knows how to get into the building since the door's apparently rusted shut, changes from day to day. A stuffed bear's head might show up on Monday and be gone on Friday, replaced with a large antique samovar. The floor beneath this merchandise is covered with newspapers written in a language that no human being has ever spoken or read, and the pictures... well, let's just say you'll be amazed what you can fit in a samovar. _

* * *

Taiwan enjoyed shopping like any other girl, so when Elizaveta offered to accompany her on her Sunday shopping trip, she gladly accepted. Despite the fact that she did not know the other female well at all, Elizaveta seemed nice enough.

Her company was mostly male-oriented, but that did not mean she did not enjoy a little female bonding time. That was why she agreed to go to the older part of town Elizaveta had proposed instead of the local shopping district. Perhaps they would find some interesting trinkets there.

Surely enough, she found a small antique shop to the alley with a rotting sign that she could barely make out as 'Edson's Antiques and Importing'. Elizaveta trailed behind her as she went to check it out.

It was not very interesting to Taiwan; the newspapers plastering the floor of the window display were of some strange unknown language and the teddy bear's head did not seem to be attached to its body. There was also an elaborately decorated container she supposed was antique. The glass was too murky to make out the rest of the shop.

"What do you think of this, Eliza? …Eliza?"

She did not notice her shopping companion behind her, nor the gleam of a knife in her hands.

A rusted key clattered to the ground, and there was a scream that soon fell silent. That day, there was a new display gracing Edson's Antique Shop.

After all, Elizaveta knew the owner.

"Roderich, I have something for your shop! I think you'll like it!"

"Why, how kind of you, Miss Elizaveta. Would you like to step in for a cup of tea before you go shopping with another one of your friends? In addition, I would like some help with the camera; I need to get the pictures to the press before next week."

"Of course, Roderich!"


	9. The Yellow Room

**Title: **The Yellow Room

**Summary: **The way Arthur learns of an event is hard, but the way he chooses to resolve it is even harder.

**Pairings:** None intended

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_There is a wall in the basement of the restaurant called Teatro that is, despite all attempts to paint it another shade, a sickly shade of yellow. The owner conceals the wall by putting a mirror and a couch up against it. However, if you remove both the couch and the mirror, you'll discover the wall's pale yellow tone. This is of no consequence, however, if you have come unequipped. In order to make use of phenomena #9, you will need a small jar of hazelnut oil. _

_Paint the outline of a door on the wall using the oil, and then push. The door you've drawn will open inward into a room with walls made from stucco that's been painted the same sickly yellow as the wall you passed through. The room appears to be a spartanly furnished study with furniture that puts you in mind of the South Sea Islands. On the desk you will find numerous papers written on the letterhead of the Dominion Bank, dated 1912. The papers predict every financial crash worldwide from 1912 until twenty years from now, when the predictions abruptly stop mid sentence. _

* * *

Arthur did not like the Teatro.

To put it simply, the food there was horrible - the chips burnt, the bread soggy, the wine bland and the fish rather unhappy-looking - even by his standards. However, the restaurant did have its uses, and, as an acolyte, Arthur made use of them.

That was why he was now wiping his fingers clean of hazelnut oil; the Yellow Room was a fresh piece of news from one of his acquaintances, and, from what he had heard, it was worth seeing, despite the sickly yellow hue of its walls and door.

He took a deep breath and picked up a sheaf of paper from the sparsely furnished desk, his eyes scanning the first few lines before the crisp, yellowed sheets dropped from his numb fingers. How could he? His child…his brother…his friend? How could he do so, for so long?

Arthur picked up the papers and resolved he would not move from the Yellow Room before he knew the truth of the affairs.

The jar of hazelnut oil lay by the door to the Teatro, forgotten.


	10. The Salon

**Title: **The Salon

**Summary:** Francis Bonnefoy was quite vain about his appearance, but took no chances when it came to his safety.

**Pairings:** None.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_There is a salon in Inglewood that seems perpetually frozen in the late seventies. The decor, the clothing of the hairdressers, even the equipment and magazines seem to come to a stop around 1978. If you go there during the day, the able stylists will be able to provide you with a deftly executed (if extremely dated) haircut for a price that is equally as deflated and out of place. However, if you return during the night, the salon's true area of expertise will become apparent. Entering the shop after sunset, even if you just exited it, will reveal a shocking transformation._

_As before, the store will be furnished and appointed as though it were the late seventies, but the decades between then and now will now be visible. Everything is aged and cracked, as if it had been left to the elements. Most shocking of all, the bottles of hair product and comb sanitizer have been replaced with row on row of murky jars containing vague, fleshy shapes. One of the stylists will remain, and she will offer you a shave and a haircut. Refuse the shave, lest you be left faceless. _

_Instead, ask the stylist to pick something that suits you and sit in one of the chairs. She will cut off your face with a straight razor, but the process will be strangely bloodless and you will feel nothing. Your vision will fade to black for a time, and when it returns one of the faces from the jars will have been seamlessly transplanted. Your features will, in every respect, be identical to whoever the face belonged to before the stylist stole it, and over time your body will change to resemble theirs as well. If you must vanish, this is how you do it. But be warned that you can never get your face back, and the friends and enemies of the face's owner will mistake you for them forever. _

* * *

The bell tinkled lightly as a customer entered Inglewood Salon, treading lightly with an expectant look on his face. However, the eager expression soon disappeared and the customer retreated quickly, frightened.

A young man, sitting unnoticed in the corner, observed these events with a sharply critical eye. Shaking his head slightly and smiling, he stood up from his seat, ignoring the many staff workers that scurried around him, and glanced at his watch, although he already knew the time well. He walked through the salon and opened the door, stepping outside.

Keeping his mouth clamped shut in a pleasant smile; he tapped his foot, glancing impatiently at his watch, glaring at the sun as the last rays retreated over the horizon. Moments later, he stepped back in.

The man that stepped out was anyone but Francis Bonnefoy. Adjusting his glasses, he smiled shyly at the world, and walked off with a clumsily timid gait.

That day, a one-million award was offered for the capture of Francis Bonnefoy. He had stabbed a woman to death, presumably one of his many lovers. A young man with a timid smile and glasses surveyed the 'Wanted' poster, and smiled.


	11. Under the Bed

**Title: **Under the Bed

**Summary: **Toris did not believe him; Eduard sought to deny what could not be proved without a microscope. In the end, Raivis is the only one who knows what happened.

**Pairings: **None intended

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Every child fears under their bed. If they don't, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door. _

_Most adults accept that children are perceptive, they see things adults don't. They aren't yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there. _

_They see the monsters. _

_If you were to borrow a child's eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that it doesn't see you back would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules. _

_1) Cover yourself. If you can't see it, it can't see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe. _

_2) Don't cry out. Don't make a sound. _

_3) Don't move. It attracts their attention. _

_4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse. _

_Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what's there, but they cannot see and they forget the rules? _

_Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep them away? _

_Why do you think so many teens run away from home? Or are assumed to have done so? _

* * *

Raivis thought they would go away.

Raivis thought, hoped, _prayed _they would go away and just leave him alone. He tried telling the others. Toris had listened attentively, but he had smiled and ruffled his hair afterwards, telling him not to worry; that they would not bother him with Big Brother Toris and Eduard around. He could tell, however, from Toris' affectionate and sympathetic tone that he plainly did not believe his small, scared little brother.

Eduard had listened to him seriously, frowning slightly, eyes dark behind the wire-rimmed glasses he sported. When Raivis had finished, the teenager had shaken his head, smiled slightly, and reminded him that such things were not logical and therefore not true. That paranoia, perhaps even hallucinations, would account for all of his problems, and then some. Eduard had listed some instances and debunked them with hard fact, as a sort of demonstration.

As much as Raivis found Toris' maternal assurance comforting and Eduard's logic resistance solid, and enjoyed them as such, that did not prevent him from eyeing every crack and shadow nervously come nightfall, shivering even more violently, and trying to suppress his convulsions. He would pull the thin sheets covering him and his siblings over his head, and wish for something more substantial, all the while trying to keep his lips pressed tightly shut and wincing in fear every time he made a sound.

More often than not, he would wake to the sound of clicking keys and see Eduard busy at work, hunched over his self-assigned projects and jobs, a lamp flooding the desk and all nearby areas with light. Raivis became nervous at those times, eyes darting to every shadow cast by the lamp, until Eduard noticed him and shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. Raivis would lie back, and close his eyes to the sounds of Eduard's frantic work. He could always be comforted by his brothers' company.

Until the day Eduard left.

He was simply gone, without taking any of his possessions with him. He left no note, and Toris and Raivis waited long into the night for the teenager's return. The next day passed in the same fashion, and the next. After a year, Toris had to give up hope.

Eduard had probably found somewhere that suited him, the young man commented mildly. He was probably happy and had no desire to return. Perhaps he had a steady job and respect. They should accept his actions and try to do so as well.

However, Raivis knew it was not true. It was not logical, and therefore not true. Eduard's disappearance and the lack of evidence did not match up.

He had not run away.

They had taken him.


	12. The Green Room

**Title: **The Green Room

**Summary: **Matthew Williams was quite sure he was not what the files depicted him as. Quite sure…

**Pairings: **Implied Prussia/Canada

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_There is an apartment building on sixteenth street that is slightly wider on the outside than it is within. Go to this building in fall and ascend the staircase. You should find the door to the roof totally unlocked. If it is locked, leave at once. Someone is using the Green Room, and they likely don't want company. If the door opens, however, walk along the roof and count skylights. Eventually you should find one that doesn't look into an apartment or hallway. Instead it looks down into a dingy room with green metal walls. _

_Break the skylight with a piece of debris and jump down. The room should be small and empty other than a metal desk and chair that have a distinctly institutional flavour. On the desk, you will find a folder full of papers. Take the folder rather than reading the papers on the spot. Breaking the skylight will have set off the alarm. Open the room's only door and step out. You will find yourself in your old high school, having just stepped out of the locker room. Leave. _

_The folder contains documents and photos that describe, in great detail, your physical and mental health. They depict you as a patient in an institution, and they aren't far off. _

_

* * *

_

Just how much is far off?

Matthew wondered. He straightened his jacket, nervously patting his collar into shape and adjusting his glasses. The expression on his photo self had been the ugliest he had ever seen, mouth twisted into a sneer and a cry at the same time, eyes narrowed to tiny slits, eyebrows twisted into a way that would have made Arthur proud.

The files had been worse – he did not know what to make of it. Thankfully the awful rank odor of the locker room behind him was enough to take his mind off the disagreeable state of affairs. He wondered if he could linger a bit, just to forget who and where he was.

Unfortunately, no. He could not afford to be late for work. His _awesome_ boss had given him grief last time, even though _Alfred _was the one who should have taken the blame, and warned him that another tardy would result in probation.

Matthew did not want that, even though his boss was egoistical, aggressive, and callous. Matthew did not want it, because he _adored _his boss.

His expression darkened, and the hand not holding the files stolen from the Room clenched into a fist. A drop of blood splattered down from his palm, staining his fingernails red, but Matthew did not notice the slash of pain.

Yes, he absolutely _adored_ his boss. It was time for _payback. _


	13. The Water of Life

**Title:** The Water of Life

**Summary: **Very few knew the secret, but with it comes an awful responsibility.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Throughout the city there are little fenced off buildings with the logo of the city's Wastewater department on metal signs in front of them or on the door. The buildings are identified by the signs as being anything from water testing buildings to pumping substations, and by and large, this is what they are. However, about half a dozen of these buildings actually contain something else. _

_Four of these buildings are part of the city's actual water treatment system. They contain pumps that push the city's water through thin grilles made from human bone. The calcium from these bone filters is why Calgary's water is so often hard. The filters clean the water not only of contaminants, but of the city's collective sin for its involvement in the oil industry. The other two are shacks that contain taps. One of these buildings is where the filters are installed when they're full. The water from the tap passes through all of the filters and emerges brackish and foul. Drinking it, however, is the only way to permanently purify the city's soul. The other building contains a tap that dispenses water so pure that any scars, mutations, cancers or birth defects will vanish. _

* * *

Very few knew the secret.

Feliciano lifted the glass to his lips and nearly flinched away as the first sip entered his mouth, its foul odor permeating his senses in an instant. Still, his mind remained clear and he took a longer drink, then another, until the chalk-tasting water was gone, and he was left with an empty need to leave immediately and make some pasta to comfort himself.

Instead, he turned to the other tap, wrestling half-heartedly with the gears until a sparkling, clear liquid gushed into his glass. He stopped the flow of water as soon as the glass was half-filled; he did not want it to overflow. Wincing, he threw his head back and drank.

It tasted horrible, like iron and salt, with a hint of something else. He had barely choked down the entire half-glass when he doubled over, the glass smashing at his side. The liquid that dripped out of his mouth was a deep, ruby red and faintly viscous, and tasted of acid and iron and salt and just a hint of something else.

At last, when the reflex retching had stopped, Feliciano sat up, completely exhausted. He was lucky, very lucky…

Very few knew the secret.


	14. Cracks

**Title: **Cracks

**Summary: **Iceland is accustomed to waking up alone. One morning, however, he is not.

**Pairings: **Implied Sweden/Finland, implied Denmark/Iceland

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_It might happen one morning that you wake up home alone. This could be normal depending on your situation, but this morning will be different. While your environment will all seem exactly the same, you'll notice that everything is quieter than normal. If you go outside, you will notice a distinct lack of anything like birds, insects, or people. As far as you travel, you will not encounter another sentient human being. The entire world will be intact, empty except for you._

* * *

There are currently over 100,000 missing persons cases in the United States. People slip through the cracks all the time.

Iceland was not unaccustomed to waking up alone in the morning.

Ever since he had walked out of his brother's home upon the eve of his adulthood, he had mostly lived alone aside from the occasional visits from his small group of acquaintances. And since they barely had anything in common with Iceland aside from some business matters, he never saw them often, aside from the irritating 'big brother' of a Dane that had developed the tendency of visiting his home when drunk. His real brother was used to his independent ways and only visited every other month, when he could find the time and effort to deal with the prickly wall of briars that had sprung up between them, despite the fact that he could still find his clothes in Iceland's wardrobe.

However, the day was Easter, and his brother had been visiting, as he always did. Norway was a man of habit; in the morning he would wake up, earlier than Iceland, to prepared breakfast and coffee, and go out for a walk. Thus, the scent of percolating coffee pervading Iceland's olfactory glands was usually the first sensation he encountered upon waking when Norway visited.

This morning, however, there was only the heavy, clear air of dense mist pressing against the windows and a sense of suffocation he woke up to. Had Norway slept in? No, impossible; he valued his routine even more with Iceland around. Had Iceland, then, mistaken the date? Come to think of it, Iceland could not remember greeting his brother the night before…

Then it hit him. Puffin was gone. His fingers groped groggily for the warm, feathered body, but it was no where to be found. Silly as it sounded, Iceland cherished his pet as much as Norway valued his routine, and the loss, accounted while still half-asleep, left him in a state of frantic disorientation. To him, it seemed, even the sounds outside had ceased as he searched for his longtime companion.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, shivering as his bedcovers fell away. He draped his jacket, the first article of clothing he had managed to find, over his shoulders and made for the phone. If he could connect with someone – Norway, Tino, Berwald, even Denmark – he would find out what was happening. It sounded good to his sleepy mind as the jacket buttons slipped out of his clumsy fingers. He called the first person on speed dial and put him on speakerphone, as he successfully put on his shirt.

"_The number you dialed does not exist. Please check the number you are dialing." _

Iceland stared in disbelief. Yesterday, when he called Norway, his number had worked just fine. Perhaps Norway's phone was just malfunctioning. Yes, that would be it – his brother had never cared for Denmark's gift. He grabbed his trousers and proceeded to pull them on as he called the other people on his phone book. Polite, rude, obtrusive, he just did not care, let someone answer the phone!

"_The number you dialed does not exist. Please check the number you are dialing." _

"_The number you dialed does not exist. Please check the number you are dialing." _

"_The number you dialed does not exist. Please check the number you are dialing." _

By this time, Iceland's nails had left bloody imprints in his palm. He flipped through his phone book nervously, cursing his reticence, and threw it down before pushing the window open. Perhaps a breath or two of cold morning air would clear his mind. He was about to inhale deeply when he froze.

There was _no_ sound of life outside; no twittering of birds, no road sounds. The only thing Iceland could hear was his own ragged breathing.

He was completely and utterly alone.


	15. Wake up?

**Title: **Wake up?

**Summary: **The evidence was irrefutable, undeniable. All Gilbert Beilschmidt could do was shut it out and pretend it never happened.

**Pairings: **Canada/Prussia

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_It has been reported that some victims of rape, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not WAKE UP. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren't being raped. The only way they realized they needed to WAKE UP was a note they found in their fantasy state. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to wake up. Even then, it would be months before they were ready to discard their fantasy world and PLEASE WAKE UP. _

* * *

Gilbert was awesome. He knew that. Everyone knew that.

_Ohgott, -_

Perhaps they did not.

_Never. _

He had never seen it coming; the soft hum of the computer, Mattie's voice calling him for opinions on dinner, Blitz barking outside his room were all sounds he liked and were accustomed to. When he heard them, he never tensed, nor did sweat break out on his body and bead on his forehead, and there was never than painful, searing sensation of adrenaline burning its way through his veins, a wildfire clearing everything for his survival. But as he logged into the website he had loudly declared a notch from awesome, there it was: the note, irrefutable, undeniable.

Gilbert immediately shut the computer, and swore never to visit the site again. He turned and smiled at Mattie as the boy entered timidly, Blitz at his heels, ready to beg for a scrap of food or trade a trick for a treat. Gilbert nodded and reached out to pet Blitz.

The air rippled.

It was not a big ripple, but it was rather obvious, making a dent in the wolfhound's head. Mattie did not notice it, so Gilbert drew his hand back and reached out to eat dinner. It did not happen again.

Nor did he want it to.


	16. The Bridal Shop

**Title: **The Bridal Shop

**Summary: **Ukraine is quite willing to follow her friend's advice for her wedding. Why not, if it helps?

**Pairings: **Ukraine/Estonia, implied Norway/Unknown

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_[The style of this entry is much more informal, like it was written for someone in particular] _

_So you're getting married? Fudge, I know you call it hand-fastening, but that's fiddlesticks. It's a wedding, even if you're not wearing white. Matt says you should try this place on fourth southwest. The selection is shizzle and the staff is snotty, but they get all kinds of imported shizzle. Real weird Asian ju-ju, and we all know that that's more important than how you look in some photos you're never going to look at again in your life, right? _

_The secret is smell. Smell is really key for this kind of thing. If you haven't learned it already, you'll learn it soon. Smell tells you what kind of shizzle has been worked over on what you're about to wear. Avoid anything herbal. I know you dykes are wild about herbs and poultices and spices and all that shizzle, but that's just window dressing. No real powerful stuff is unrefined like that, especially the Asian imports. What you have in that scenario is some factory worker who's trying to pull a fast one by rubbing the thread with ginseng or something. _

_If I were you, I'd pick something that smells like fish. Fish means Dagon, God of Agriculture (which means prosperity) for the Canaanites and happiness for the Buddhists. Sure, it stinks, but I've smelled that vegan shizzle you people eat. You have no room to complain. _

* * *

Ukraine giggled slightly guiltily at the letter in her hand. Although she had never taken such things seriously, she considered her marriage to her fiancé very important, and she was willing to try anything that would help it flow smoothly. Even if the suggestions in the letter sounded slightly out of the ordinary, she trusted the writer very much. He was, after all, the friend of a very pleasant person, and had gotten married himself, even if he pretended nonchalance. Her source knew the importance of such a ceremony.

Her phone rang. Although she normally ran to answer it, this time she let the machine get it. It was very well that she let people think she was absent during this particular excursion.

"Are you home, Miss Ukraine? I just wanted to ask if you have time tonight. I know a restaurant that just opened near my home, and the food it serves is excellent. Please answer at your convenience."

Ukraine smiled; she never tired of hearing her fiancé's smooth-flowing voice, with its endearing accent and economical pauses. It went well with his glasses and scholarly appearance, by all means. She was going to look rather out of place in their wedding ceremony, though…she hoped he would not object.

But of course; he never did, and nor did he ask too many questions. He was simply trusting, and Ukraine never tired of seeing those earnest eyes.

She picked up the phone and answered.

"I'm really sorry about this, Eduard, but today Natasha asked me to eat dinner and stay over with her. Can we meet tomorrow?"


	17. The Baby Doll

**Title: **The Baby Doll

**Summary:** They could try again…they could always try again, after he had disposed of the doll.

**Pairings:** Onesided Belarus/Russia, probable onesided Canada/Belarus

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling "realistic" baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the "rocking motion" advertised to calm it down wouldn't work, and you couldn't get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. _

_The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was to bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion, though, neighbors called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn't understand why the police were there, she just "got rid of the stupid doll" as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms. _

* * *

Natalya's lips were compressed tightly together; she rocked Vanya carefully in the old rocking chair situated in a corner of the nursery.

The infant had beautiful wheat-blond hair and violet eyes just like its father, and a small, fine-featured face she would stroke as often as permitted. She patted Ivan's blanket into a comfortable shape around the contours of its body as she hummed a childhood song, something she would only ever do for her beloved.

She stopped, however, as an irritating, bleating wail reached her ears. Her expression darkened as she rose, gliding in the direction of the crib.

She had liked the doll when Vanya's father gave it to her, with his wheat-blond hair and turquoise eyes, during her pregnancy, but now he cried all the time without stopping unless she was there on an hourly basis. Vanya's father would look at her worriedly when he got home, and reach for the doll without sparing a glance toward their child. Natalya would be irritated, but how could she afford to leave darling Vanya alone for even a moment? It might get upset.

The doll's blood-streaked turquoise eyes stared up at Natalya. She noted under the beginnings of the crystal mist that had begun to clear her vision that it was not Vanya. _It was not Vanya._

With a cry of rage, she tossed the doll aside just as it began to mewl. Stupid, sick toy! It had no right to usurp her beloved husband's love. Not content with merely throwing it out of the crib, she snatched it up roughly, her nails digging into the soft, sallow skin, and bashed it against the wall again and again, delighting in the blood and brain matter that spattered her dress. She threw the carcass to the ground and stomped on the tiny ribcage until she heard the bones crack. Sinking to the floor, she licked a droplet of blood off her lip and fell into a deep stupor.

Matthew opened the door and sighed, unaffected by the carnage. They would try again after he had cleaned up this mess…they could always try again, after he had disposed of the doll. He headed for the bleach without hanging up his hat.

Well, better get to work before the neighbors called the authorities. Natalya would need a new set of clothes; she had already worked through her wardrobe and bloodstains were quite hard to get off the delicate white linen she was so fond of wearing.


	18. The Message

**Title:** The Message

**Summary: **Why, Yong Soo? Why did you do it?

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers and the short stories of creepypasta dot net are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Don't dismiss this outright as the work of some raving lunatic. There's some sense to this story, if you'll just hear me out… _

_Look, we all wonder if time travel is possible, right? Well, let me tell you something… it is. I'm from the future, actually. I know you probably don't believe that, but seriously, I'm from the future. It's a really great thing; getting to see the past, watching events unfold… stuff like that. We know more now than we ever would. _

_Behind all the fun, though, there's a more serious aspect. We aren't supposed to go in our own lifetime, and we are NEVER allowed to contact our past selves. Let me tell you, I'm breaking that rule right now. Yes, kid, you're talking to yourself. Your future self. I'm going to be executed for this, but you know what? I accept that. I'm preventing something by talking to you that is WORSE than death. I can't tell you outright what to do, because the filters would catch it. This is the closest I can get, trust me. I can, however, send a little message. _

_You should probably read the first word of every paragraph, now. _

* * *

"Yong Soo, why did you do it~aru?"

"_-will protect you from a fate worse than death…" _

"Why did you murder that poor girl~aru? She was her father's only child!"

"_I have no memory of the incident! I tell you, I'm innocent!" _

"Dr. Von Bock was very upset! And then when you got unauthorized access to his lab~aru, I couldn't believe you abused your privileges~aru."

"_Abused my privileges? ABUSED my privileges? Hear that, Honored Brother. Abused my privileges. What are you going to do, report me to the police? No one has my level clearance except for you and that other stupid researcher." _

"…Why did you do it~aru? You drove yourself mad~aru."

Two pinpoints of reflected light, a pair of fever eyes, gazed up at Yao with perfect lucidity despite the strong sedatives Yong Soo had in his system. Inhumanly strong hands clutched his sleeves and pulled them down until Yao was nose-to-nose with his mad younger brother.

"The…sacred…rite."

The answer was nonsense, and Yong Soo released a disappointed Yao after saying it, returning to his picture book and Crayola crayons; mute and tattered like the old rag doll model of him that still resided in Yao's study.

Unhappy, the P.I. pursed his lips and called the nurse, a friend of Dr. Von Bock's. His warm green eyes comforted Yao.

"Uh…Doctor Wang? Eduard says he's found the vidfile during the night your brother broke into your lab. He wants to know if he should hand it over to security right away or hold on to it until you arrive at the laboratory."


	19. The Vacant Apartment

**Title: **The Vacant Apartment

**Summary: **She never stood a chance; scrubbing at the wall was the last straw.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Downtown, in the mess of construction and demolition, rooms are sometimes left behind or else formed piecemeal out of extra walls or ignorantly enclosed spaces. It's said that a great many of them are connected, forming a secret in-between city, but the largest group that verifiably exists is a cluster of six rooms. Unfortunately, the location of these rooms appears to be transitory, with the same six chambers stumbled across by urbex enthusiasts and acolytes throughout the city. _

_Entering this vacant apartment proves difficult because of its movement, but it can easily be spotted with patience. A bleached wooden door with a broken lock will appear in appear from time to time in almost any basement or closet in any downtown building. When you pass through the door you will find yourself in a Spartan, unfurnished space. Every room, in fact, every wall seems to come from a different building or decade. _

_The room is safe and warm, a haven that appears when you need it most. The walls, floor and ceiling are splattered with perpetually warm, wet blood, and occasionally other signs of violence can be found. Never try to break into the unfurnished apartment, never try to move in permanently and never ever fall asleep. _

* * *

She never had a chance.

The frilly curtains did not help, pretty as they were, and the proper little chair with its damask cushions was not to be tolerated. There was a limit to how much was could be ignored or removed. The room could simply not take the violations within its four walls.

The last straw was when she began scrubbing at the walls, tsking all the while. Her bright green eyes were serious and determined to get rid of the oddly scented, perpetually wet paint that coated the four walls, and she had even brought a stepladder and a roll of self-adhesive wallpaper. Never had there been a bigger fool than she.

Fool she was, but her blood on the wall was an appealing thought. It would cover the secrets scrawled there over the years, hidden within the safe, warm apartment.


	20. The Clinic

**Title: **The Clinic

**Summary: **It was the fifth appointment.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia Axis Powers and the 200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary are the creations of Hidekaz Himaruya and an unknown author respectively. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties.

* * *

_Ride the 305 for exactly six stops. Where you get off doesn't matter. Then walk to the nearest medical clinic and ask the receptionist if you can see the on-call doctor. You'll be told that you can't. Ask for the other on call doctor. Her face will go white as a sheet and she'll tell you to go to exam room three. Wait there until the physician shows up, which could be anywhere from less than a minute to six hours. When he does show up, he'll be old: Leathery skin, coal-black eyes, and the medical paraphernalia of a bygone day. He'll begin the examination without exchanging pleasantries or asking you what's wrong. After the exam, he'll consult your file and tell you his prognosis. If you're healthy, you won't be when you leave the clinic. Ebola, Rubella, SARS, he'll pick something nasty for wasting his time. You won't die of whatever he gives you. Instead, you'll be damned to wander the earth spreading it._

_If you're ill, however, he'll tell you it will clear up on its own by the end of the week. It will, as will any chronic pain or other long-term conditions. From that day on, no other doctor in the city will be willing to see you or even make eye contact.  
_

* * *

Iceland sat on the examination bed, waiting patiently for the doctor. The recent weather had given him a cough, which, on normal days, was not worth worrying over, but his recent bout of sickness had proven taxing to his body. It was clearly exhibited in his worryingly thin wrists and sunken eyes, which made him look alarmingly worn.

"Iceland!" Iceland looked up as his name was called. "Exam room one!"

Iceland stood up, wheezing slightly, and made his way to the exam room door. Just as he opened the door, the doctor inside said abruptly, "Out."

The command came as a disappointment to the boy, who protested. "You haven't even seen me yet-"

"Out. Get out!" Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and practically threw him away from the door, which then slammed shut. Iceland stared at the door, and sighed.

"Geez…that's the fifth appointment now."


End file.
